


the last summer

by starsshinedarkly77



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Medication, Purple Prose, Sharing Clothes, Smoking, Teenagers, They're all 18, are they friends? are they lovers? who knows, implied polyamory, super experimental, there is literally no plot to this, too many similes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsshinedarkly77/pseuds/starsshinedarkly77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They are in the thick of summer, coming up to the middle of July, and it is hot."</p>
<p>A snapshot of the last summer Hux, Phasma, and Kylo spend together before they leave for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the last summer

**Author's Note:**

> What is this, you may ask? I wish I had an answer for you. Mostly I just wanted to play around with a setting and concept that I don't intend to write a longer fic for, and I wanted to write some pretty flowery prose. I've been having a rough go of it the past few days and writing this really made me feel happy and calm, so I hope that you enjoy it!

It is hot today. 

They are in the thick of summer, coming up to the middle of July, and it is hot. Hux, who watches the news, knows that this summer is one of the hottest on record. Kylo and Phasma, who do not watch the news, call him a nerd when he mentions it to them and amuse themselves by blowing quick puffs of air against his face, so that his eyelids shut instinctively against the unexpected blasts.

Kylo tells him that, when this happens, his eyelashes flutter like monarch butterflies, light and quick and orange against the translucency of his skin.

It is morning right now, or maybe afternoon - Hux, rather uncharacteristically, hasn't bothered to check the clock - and they are in Kylo’s living room, all the windows open, optimistic that a breeze could blow through and give purpose to the beads of sweat clinging to their skin. In case one doesn't come, they've turned the fan on, and it swirls rhythmically around above them, ticking every few seconds in a pulse so even it could have come from a metronome. Outside, the air is still and heavy, pressing down on everything, and the whole earth seems to thrum with the heat of the sun beating down on it. Somewhere, not far off, a dog is barking.

Hux is curled up against the arm of the sofa, tucked into himself, because he is not quite awake enough to do anything else. He can feel the thick dreaminess of having been asleep for too long gathered in the corners of his eyes, and his mouth tastes sour. He hasn't had coffee, and he wants coffee, but the idea of drinking hot coffee at the moment is just slightly too horrifying to put into words. He’s wearing one of Kylo’s hoodies, black and oversized, and boxer shorts, and nothing else. The sleeves of the hoodie flop down over his fingertips when he moves his arms, and he’s already given up struggling to keep them pushed up.

Phasma is seated on the floor near him, cross-legged, with her back pressed against the sofa. If Hux stretched out his toes he could brush them against the nape of her neck and disturb the short strands of platinum hair that are stuck to her damp skin. She’s playing Grand Theft Auto with the volume turned down so low Hux can barely hear it, for which he is grateful, and every so often she takes her hand off the controller long enough to root around in the open box of Froot Loops in her lap and pop a handful into her mouth. She’s dressed only in her underwear, a black sports bra and a black pair of panties, and she’s got Hux’s shirt tied by the arms around her waist - he’d watched her try to pull it on, earlier, and she’d laughed when it refused to accommodate her shoulders, taking it off and tying it around herself instead. It’s getting wrinkled like that, and he’s going to have to wear it home later, but he doesn't ask her to take it off. 

Kylo is stretched out on his stomach across the living room carpet, and the sheer size of him is just a bit disarming when he unfolds himself so completely. He’s drawing something in his sketchbook, all grey shapes and formless lines as of now, so that Hux can’t quite pick out what it is, not yet. He’s wearing Phasma’s tank top and her denim shorts, which he put on just to prove that he could do it and then never got around to removing. His dark, thick hair is gathered in a neat fishtail braid that’s tucked flat against the length of his neck, the very tip of it brushing the highest vertebra of his spine. The black of his hair against the white of his skin reminds Hux of a paintbrush approaching canvas. 

As Hux watches him, Kylo sits up, stretches, and the black tank top pulls up on his abdomen, revealing a strip of pale, pale stomach, the jagged shape of his hip bones, decorated with purpling bruises that stand out like ink stains against his skin. The sight of them stirs up the memory of Hux pulling those dark marks out of Kylo’s fair skin, just with his mouth, while Phasma’s fingertips trailed against his back, over and over and over. 

Kylo looks at him as though he can hear what Hux is thinking, smiles crookedly at him. 

“Hey Phas, do you want my gum?”

Phasma murmurs something that sounds like an affirmative, and Kylo crawls on his knees over to her, leaning his face over hers to drop the already-chewed wad of gum from his mouth to hers. Hux has seen them do this a thousand times, and is no less disgusted now than the first time he saw it. Phasma’s hair looks even fairer next to Kylo’s, and his looks darker next to hers. 

Kylo drags himself up onto the sofa, then, his graphite-covered fingers leaving smudges on the cushions that Hux thinks his mother will surely scold him for later. 

“I need to take my meds,” Kylo says, apropos of nothing. “Does anyone want a Dr. Pepper?”

Phasma makes another affirmative noise, her eyes never moving from the TV. Hux’s nose wrinkles at the thought of something so sweet so early in the day. 

Kylo shifts - to get up, Hux thinks at first, but then he is leaning closer to Hux, not quite touching him, but studying him intently. His dark brown eyes trace over the lines of Hux’s face, once, then again, and his lips quirk up in another of his sly and mysterious smiles.

“What?” Hux says. His voice is still husky from sleep, and he hardly recognizes it.

“You’ve been out in the sun too much,” Kylo says, and he puts a hand out to run his thumb along Hux’s cheekbone. “You’re all freckly.”

He leans in and kisses Hux then, on the bridge of his nose, where Hux knows there are little brown spots in multitudes, thrown into greater contrast against his skin by the summer sun. He’s nearly given up trying to hate them, because for all the youth and immaturity they bring to his face, Kylo and Phasma both seem enchanted by them, as if it is some magic spell that speckles them across his face rather than the sun. 

Kylo leans back and gifts him with another toothy, impossible grin, and then stands, leaves the room. Hux hears the fridge open and shut, the rattle of pill bottles as Kylo gets them out of the cabinet, and the click and sizzle as he opens a can of soda to take the pills with. He’s supposed to take them with food, and he hardly ever does unless Hux nags him to, and he won’t now unless Hux nags him to, but it is so hot and so still and Hux cannot bring himself to bother, not today. 

Kylo comes back holding the open Dr. Pepper and makes a point of pressing the cold, moist can against Hux’s neck so that he jumps. He laughs when Hux turns to glare at him, and offers him the can. Hux accepts it and takes several long swallows before he passes it down to Phasma. He was right. Too sweet, too early, but it’s too late, and at least the carbonation has cleared the sour stickiness from his throat. 

“What are we doing later?” Phasma asks. 

Yesterday they’d gone out to the drainage ditch behind the cul-de-sac at the end of Kylo’s street, and Hux and Phasma had chain-smoked their way through a pack of cigarettes while Kylo fooled around on his skateboard, the wheels clattering loudly against the gravel that lay scattered along the concrete bottom of the ditch. It’s one of the only two places that Hux ever smokes, the other being his father’s study, where every surface is already imbued with the scent of tobacco and a kernel of fear rests in the space behind his heart from the second he lights the cigarette to minute he puts it out, always so afraid to be caught. He doesn't have to be afraid in the ditch. 

“It’s too hot to do anything,” Kylo says, groaning. No matter how hot it gets, he refuses to stop wearing all black.

Phasma hums contemplatively, finally putting her game aside, and stretches her arms up toward the ceiling, the delicately swirling fan. 

“I vote walking to the 7-Eleven and getting Slurpees,” she says. The 7-Eleven is less than a mile from Kylo’s house, and Hux has memorized the walk there and back like he’s memorized the constellation of moles on Kylo’s cheeks and the curve of Phasma’s shoulders. It’s easy, familiar, like breathing. 

“It’s too hot to walk,” Kylo whines, and he bends over the back of the sofa to bury his face against Hux’s neck. 

“Fine. Phasma and I will go by ourselves and we won’t bring you back anything,” Hux says. It’s a joke, for the most part. They’d never leave without Kylo and Kylo would never let them leave without him. He will cling to their heels and complain the whole way, but he will go with them, always, as though they’ll evaporate into nothingness like a puddle of water on the scorching pavement outside if he's not watching them, with them, every single second. 

“Phasma can’t go unless I give her her clothes back,” Kylo says, impishly, into Hux’s shoulder. 

“I’ll go like this, Ren,” Phasma says. “Don’t test me.”

Hux imagines them walking to the 7-Eleven just like this, Kylo in Phasma’s clothes and Phasma in her underwear with Hux’s shirt tied about her waist and himself with Kylo’s hoodie on. They’d look ridiculous and a little obscene, and some long-buried rebellious part of Hux almost wants to do it. But they can’t, and they shouldn’t, and they won’t. 

Outside, the wind chime hanging from Kylo’s neighbor’s back porch jingles, and the leaves on the trees rustle, and that is their only warning before a gust of wind bursts through the house, kicking up the curtains, flipping the pages of Kylo’s sketchbook. All three of them, as one, close their eyes and breathe in the moment of cool, cool air, before it is lost forever to the hot of the summer.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at starsshinedarkly77.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the last summer (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905395) by [steamworkBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamworkBlue/pseuds/steamworkBlue)




End file.
